


Five Things Simon Banks Never Asked For

by Wordwitch



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: 5 Things, Character Study, Family, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-28
Updated: 2011-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordwitch/pseuds/Wordwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon reflects on five things he would have thought that he didn't want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things Simon Banks Never Asked For

1\. A Son

The door slammed behind Daryl, and Simon sank his tired length into the sofa, dropping his glasses onto the endtable and wiping his hands over his face.

_My God. Girls._

Strictly speaking, it shouldn’t make any difference that Arleen was two years older than Daryl – but it did. It was going to cause trouble and break his son’s heart, just like Joan had broken his.

They had been supposed to be a DINK couple … Simon chuckled and shook his head. How long had it been since he’d heard _that_ phrase? Double Income, No Kids, Joan pursuing her career and him supporting her just like she’d supported him while he was getting started in his. Cops shouldn’t have kids, and executives shouldn’t, either; but Joan had become pregnant despite the Pill, despite condoms, despite everything.

Daryl had, by his very existence, eventually broken their marriage, much as they both loved him. They just couldn’t take care of their careers, their marriage, and him all at the same time. The marriage was the only thing that could be let go and let them both remain sane.

He missed Joan. And he’d never asked for Daryl. But he would be flayed in the streets before he let anything happen to his beautiful, brilliant, adorable son.

2\. Major Crimes

“Banks, got a minute?” Drennon caught up to him as he waited for the elevator. The current Captain of Homicide puffed for a moment, then said, “Okay. Okay. You worked this desk. Tell me how you did it.”

Simon raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Drennon shook his head, smiling, as he finally caught his breath, and accompanied Simon into the elevator.

“No, I mean personnel; how the hell did you keep these yahoos sane day after day, the stuff they have to see?”

“What makes you think I did? Homicide cops get burnout, just like any other cops do. They get tired, it stops making any sense, they have to quit.”

“Not yours, not like I’m getting. What did you do different to what I’m doing? I need to make this better for my guys, but how?”

Simon contemplated the man for a few minutes, his eyebrows lowered. Drennon looked back, skipping his stop, patient.

“Okay, look,” Simon said finally. “There’s a bunch of stuff I just do, and I don’t know what is good and what is not. Let me think about this for a few days, consult with some people. I’ll get back to you, if you’re serious.”

“As a heart attack,” Drennon said forcefully. “Thanks, Banks.”

Simon left him on the elevator punching the button for his own floor, and paced toward his office, collecting Rafe and Brown with him as he went, raising a contemplative eyebrow at Megan, who waved affirmatively at him without raising her head from her terminal. A few minutes later he knew what they did, and they knew what he did, and they were back on the trail of the latest batch of smugglers to mistake his city for a good transfer point.

He’d actually have stayed in Homicide, had he been stupid enough to voice his wishes in the matter. Major Crimes was a step up, and also an increase in headaches; he would rather not have taken it. But that would have meant letting Brenowski have it, and he would slice his tongue off before he would let that panderer loose among the major criminals.

3\. A Pet Anthropologist

“Sandburg!”

And there went that curly head, popping up over Ellison’s shoulder like some Wild Kingdom groundhog out of its burrow, the blue eyes amused, the smudged brows lifted. A pat to the massive shoulder, and Sandburg was on his way into the office, tilting his head sideways, the illusion of youthfulness in full force. Behind him, Ellison’s eyes had gone glacier-pale, and Simon knew he’d be listening in. Not an issue, but this was not his business.

“Got a special assignment for you. Drennon thinks he’s losing more people to burnout than I did. He wants to know why, and how to stop it. I don’t have a clue. Find out if it’s true, if so why, and what-if-anything to do to correct it. Write it up and let me have it. Make sure your name’s on it.”

Sandburg’s smile had been getting wider and wider.

“Can I interview people?”

Simon looked at him dubiously. “Try not to be a nuisance, but yes, within reason.”

“Can do.” The man was quivering. “What’s the time frame?”

“Not immediate, but soon.”

“Friday?”

“Good. Do it.”

Sandburg gave a sharp nod, and bounced out of the office, slapping Ellison’s shoulder on his way to the elevators. Ellison rolled his eyes and settled into his desk.

Sandburg was impertinent, smack-talking, and a trouble magnet. With a brain stuffed full of the National Library of Congress, Simon would swear. And he was unutterably grateful that Ellison had talked him into taking the man on.

4\. A Sentinel.

“Not methodologically ethical, man! Not statistically reliable, and not verifiable, either, so just you back off and let me do this! I _know_ how to run a study!”

“But it would help a lot to get the truth and not polite approximations, am I right?”

Simon froze in place, his fingers still clutching the quarter he was about to insert into the vending machine. Slowly, his face collapsed as the … _discussion_ … raged behind him.

“What would it matter? Simon said ‘publish,’ and you simply do not mess with the chain of evidence for publication!”

“Okay, okay, look: what if you got permission?”

Carefully, Simon deposited his quarter, and the next two, and the dime, and chose his candy bar. Not even the noises from the machine stopped the terrible two.

“Validation, Jim! Other people have to be able to repeat your work, and nobody else has a human lie detector on staff! Unless you’re volunteering to go public and offer your services, and I just don’t think so!”

Simon cleared his throat and turned, his eyebrows brushing the tops of his glasses as they rose.

“Problem, gentlemen?”

Sandburg pointed sideways at Ellison, his finger quivering with wrath. “He is trying to _help_!”

“What?” Ellison spread his huge hands. “I’m still your partner, right? You help me all the time, why can’t I help you for once?”

Simon maintained his silence.

“Okay, just wait a minute,” Sandburg said, crushing his hand against his forehead and pacing. “Just, just hang on a minute. Let me think.”

“Have you already picked out who you’re going to interview?” Simon asked nonchalantly. Sandburg whipped his head up, his finger flying out to point at Simon.

“Bingo! Perfect! You can do the preliminary scan! Zero in on the most and least stressed, and then we confirm with medical stress data …”

Sandburg led the larger man out, reminding Simon inexorably of a tugboat with a cargo ship. They would figure it out. Something Ellison could do would serve the study, if only quietly and as a marker for further study. Just as he did for the crime scenes he investigated.

Simon had never asked for a Sentinel among his personnel; wouldn’t have known to ask for one. But the man did come in handy at the most unusual times.

5\. A Reputation.

Drennon closed the binder and tapped the cover, his mouth twisting sourly. “So it _is_ me,” he muttered.

Sandburg flicked his eyes to Simon, waiting for a signal to answer. Simon kept his own eyes on Drennon, and leant forward across the table.

“As I understand it, it’s a matter of which rules you choose to enforce. And those choices have to - _have_ to – serve the people under your protection first. Which would be the citizens, and then your folks. Which, if you are leading right, will never come into conflict. But only _then_ should your choices serve your bosses. Because if you can be trusted by your people to stand between them and the brass, then they have that extra shield between them and burnout. They can act as they think best, and think they can justify to you, without second-guessing themselves to politicians.”

Drennon grimaced the more, obviously turning thoughts upside-down: evidence and study warring with his long-held authority-pleasing values. Not looking, Simon held Sandburg’s quivering leash, holding Ellison too, outside the room and theoretically uninvolved, at his desk simply with the set of his shoulders. A man didn’t get this set in his ways without needing an earthquake to change them. When he did himself and everyone else the favor of asking for the earthquake, it was only proper to let the aftershocks fade a bit before asking him to climb to his feet again.

Drennon finally dropped his head in acceptance. “I gotta let this sink in over the weekend. It’s not how I was brought up, you know? But facts are facts. Thanks, Banks. Sandburg.” He nodded at each of them before wandering somewhat dazedly out the door, Sandburg’s report and research clutched in the plain blue binder. Simon kept his eyes on him until he hit the elevator, then turned and cast his brows up at Sandburg.

“You did good, there. I didn’t think you’d be able to keep quiet.”

Sandburg grinned at him in delight.

“No, no, happy to watch a political master at work, and man, if there is one thing I have proven over the last three days, it is that you, Simon, are a political master! I salute you!”

In the middle of his comedic bowing and scraping, Ellison came through the door, a calm smirk on his face.

“Visitors, Simon. Daryl and a young lady.”

Simon rose to find his son and a pudgy girl peering through the window. He squared his shoulders, inhaled, and put on his “charming” look before moving out to greet them. Had to be Arleen. Perfect end to a perfect day.

But when she looked up at him, all beautiful eyes and luscious lips, and a sparkle to her that echoed Sandburg’s, he felt himself melt a bit. And he responded to Daryl’s burbled introductions with, “It’s good to meet you, Arleen. I’ve heard wonderful things about you.” Shrugging on his jacket to go with them to lunch, he pondered the mysteries of the universe.

Maybe Arleen wouldn’t break his son’s heart.

Maybe he’d have to watch out Daryl didn’t break hers, instead.

He caught his son’s knowing look, and snorted, sharing the joke at himself. It was a massive pain to have a reputation, whether as a good boss, an effective leader, or a fair man. People kept expecting you to do the right thing, no matter how much you’d prefer to do something else.

He wouldn’t trade it for anything.


End file.
